Wednesday, January 23, 2013

It's cold. That isn't news. It IS January and it is Chicago. I heard the other day that the single digit temps we had earlier this week were the coldest experienced in this area in two years. And though cold, I wasn't complaining for One: is IS January. Two: it IS Chicago. Three: there isn't wasn't any snow. (There is snow now, but just a tiny bit.) Four: No matter how cold, how bad it is, I know it could be worse.

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So, it is cold. And now, a bit of snow.

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The pup however, is not at all phased by the cold or the snow. Granted, she hasn't seen a snowstorm yet. (There have been several inquiries as to whether she can *see* at all, what with all the hair and the phantom eyes.) But, I have a sneaking suspicion that she will handle mounds of snow in the same way she's handled everything else, with great mounds of exuberance.

There is much going around these parts, most of which I have yet to truly wrap around my head and wear it brightly. I'm worried about a some friends. I'm distressed over job, work issues. I'm fearful for my mom. I am harried, heckled, haunted, and hounded much.

But, I have a dog who is mostly calm about getting her hair snipped (except around her eyes). Hard to tell, I know, in the seated (most recent) pic that she has short ringlets instead of the shaggy dog appearance. Trust, she does. I have two cats who suffer the indignities of being (lovingly) mauled by the big, goofy dog with, well, dignity and I dare say, aplomb (mostly). I have a son and a daughter who enjoy talking to me and I enjoy most of that talking, very much.

And while it is very cold, I have heat, hot water, tea, soup, enough clothes to layer upon layer as well as a kick-ass pair of mittens (thanks to my good friend Maxine). I also have (still) a sliver of optimism that this cold snap is just that, a snap. And while my problems (and those of my friends) will not dissipate as the temperatures rise nor entirely on their own. But, solutions will be found, executed.

Things will get better. Here's to the mindset that has better coming sooner rather than too much later.

In the meantime there is the pup to walk, in the cold and tiny bit of snow.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Today's entry was to have been about getting (and keeping, mis-stepping and now needing to regain) Cinnamon's sleeping through the night schedule for in the last couple of days she's back to rousing at 3:30 AM for walking, feeding. . . . aaarraggghh.

But, that will have to wait for another day, for on this day, there is a dream to relate.

We're up at 3:30 AM. We walked. She ate. I drank the coffee the actor had brewed, up early to prepare for his coaching gig and an audition. We talked (the actor and I) about a great number of things while Cinnamon harassed the orange cat and ripped apart a carton (when she couldn't get at the cat).

A couple or so hours later the actor had to shower and dress for his day. After he left I went back to bed, to re-boot my Saturday morning. Sometime after I dropped back off to slumber-land, a dream crept up beside me.

As you know, of maybe YOU don't, but some do--I don't remember dreams, or at least not the full scope of them. Just snippets. Slices.

This dream starred Kobe (as in Bryant, as in, ick, I can't stand him). He was the waiter and I the diner. I was having a dinner or it could have been a series of dinners with someone whose identity was never revealed. Kobe kept bringing me dishes I didn't seem to be ordering. First, fish. Then, linguine. Then, some kind of sandwich. And then . . well, it went on and on.

With the delivery of each dish Kobe would moan and groan. He had some whiny commentary about my eating and he and his team losing. There appeared to be a correlation. The final dish (that I remember) him plopping down in front of me was an extremely large mound of french fries and a saucer full of fried pickle slices. The End (of the dream).

And then, screaming bladder.

I know why the food, as the last of the great many things the actor and I discussed before my morning nap was diners and the virtues (and / or risks) of high, middle, and lower end dining establishments and experiences. I don't know why the specific food items except for the fried pickle slices. Their appearance is undoubtedly the result of my first former girlfriend being heavy on my mind in recent weeks.

Kobe's whiny ass? What? Why? And Stop!

And now, onward to a re-booted Saturday AM. Cinnamon and I have been outside again. Soon she will get a bath where I will attempt to clip more hair from around her face so it is in better alignment with her body, the litter boxes will get cleaned, and . . . well, a number of other chores before going out tonight.